


Untitled

by fitzbiscuits



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzbiscuits/pseuds/fitzbiscuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine spills coffee on Kurt in a subway. Cue awkward and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Kurt hates taking the subway, finds it unsanitary and gross and for some reason, it always smells like sweat and chips and something else he’d rather not know. Plus, he never knows who he’ll get to sit next to, if he gets to sit down at all, and that makes him uncomfortable, compared to sitting alone in the comfort of his pine-scented Prius.

But his car wouldn’t start, and he couldn’t be late for class, not when he’s already missing out on so much these days. Isabelle makes him come to work—even when he doesn’t have to—for something extra urgent, and Gus always makes him cover someone else’s shift. He’s juggling school, an internship, and a job, and with that, he often forgets to do the menial chores Rachel makes him do to compensate for his lack of ‘apartment participation’, let alone remember to eat.

He can smell everyone in the stuffy car, and he tries not to lean so much against his seat so he wouldn’t smell of someone else’s sweat before he even gets to come to class. He’s got fifteen minutes, more or less, before they arrive at the next station, so he checks his phone for emails instead of sulking in his corner, tries to look busy when everyone else looks dead.

He’s swiping his thumb across the screen when the car hits a bump on the track and he feels something hot and wet spilling on his white button-down.

“What the hell?” His body jolts up and he earns a couple of looks from the other passengers. “Look what you did!” he says, in a frustrated tone of someone who’s lacking sleep from finishing his write-up last night and whose car wouldn’t start so he had to take the fucking subway. And really, he needed this, as if his week wasn’t already pretty shitty enough.

The guy sitting next to him immediately puts his travel mug between his knees and turns to face him. “Oh my, God, I am  _so_ sorry,” he says, hands aimlessly hovering over Kurt’s now ruined shirt. “I- I didn’t mean to-  _God,_ I’m sorry. Let me clean that up for you.”

Kurt looks up at him, eyebrows still furrowed in annoyance. He gives the guy a once-over—his dark hair is gelled back in a way that you can still distinguish his curls, face clean-shaven and neat, and he’s wearing a black-and-white striped shirt underneath a maroon cardigan, paired with dark, acid-washed jeans. It isn’t long before Kurt finds himself looking a little longer than he should, his expression softening. And he doesn’t bother looking away, because he’s  _really_ nice to look at.

“Here.” The guy brings out a pack of baby wipes from his body bag and Kurt tries to keep the corners of his lips from curling up into a smile because he’s supposed to be mad— _furious_ , actually— but this guy is carrying  _baby wipes_ , for god’s sake. “I’m really such a clutz, I’m sorry.” He peels the cover open and pulls out some sheets, dabbing them on Kurt’s shirt like it would help, and Kurt’s too busy trying not to stare too much at his pink, baby soft lips to tell him that it won’t make any difference.

“It’s fine, leave it,” Kurt says, gently pushing the guy’s hands away and dusting off his shirt, taking another good look at the stain that’s formed just near his torso. “I’ll take care of it later.” His tone has considerably shifted from annoyed to somewhat sweet in a matter of seconds, and that’s when he finds a pair of wide, hazel eyes with hints of small, gold flakes underneath long lashes staring up at him.

“You’re Kurt Hummel, right?” The guy sounds sure enough not to ask, but he does, anyway.

Kurt pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, wonders how he knows this guy—or how this guy knows him, rather—and answers with a soft, “Yes.”

The guy smiles at the validation, and sighs as if he’d saved himself from embarrassment, which he probably did. “Wow,” he mutters, incredulously. “You know, I watched you perform _Being Alive_ at the Winter Showcase three years ago. You were  _amazing_. I remember thinking how it was too bad you weren’t a student there, and then- well, you show up in class a week later, which is really cool. I’m- I’m from NYADA, too. If it isn’t already obvious.” He chuckles, and Kurt smiles, ducks his head to hide his flushed cheeks. It’s not everyday someone brings it up, especially not to compliment him on it.

“Thank you.”

“I hear you’ve been a back-to-back-to-back Midnight Madness champion for like, the past seven challenges or so. And Kyle, my friend, says you beat Rachel Berry  _twice_ ,” the guy continues, and Kurt smiles, finds his enthusiasm exhilarating. And then, with a look of realization on his face, the guy chuckles. “Sorry, I- I’m just a really big fan. I’m Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson.”

‘I’m a really big fan’ only translates to one thing for Kurt, which is good news for him, really. Because Blaine is  _really_ attractive, and he’d consider this either harmless praise to boost his ego or flirting.

Kurt shakes his hand, and it’s soft and warm enough that he gives it a small, extra squeeze. “Nice to meet you.” He nods, and Blaine just grins. He’s cute, Kurt thinks, in a boy-next-door-ish kind of way. He looks like someone he’d be ogling at a library, though, and he wonders how he’s never seen him before, although he does look vaguely familiar.

Blaine clears his throat when he lets go of Kurt’s hand, and places it on top of the book Kurt hadn’t noticed he’d been reading before. He tries to peer at the title, and Blaine notices because he says, “It’s  _The Picture of Dorian Grey_. You know, Oscar Wilde?”

“Ah.”

“This is his first and last novel. He wrote many books and essays, but… this was his only novel. Published, that is. I mean, for all we know, he could’ve written more but never wanted to publish them, or get the chance to,” Blaine rambles and Kurt just nods accordingly, not really able to relate because he rarely reads novels, and when he does, they’re far from the likes of Oscar Wilde.

When there’s nothing else to follow with that, Blaine rubs the back of his neck, and goes back to reading, or pretends to, because he’s reading a page before the bookmark sticking out of the small novel. Kurt smiles to himself, watches Blaine tap his foot on the floor of the subway, drumming his fingers on his lap. His nervousness and the way he’s so obviously flustered is flattering for Kurt, because he’s never had anybody nervous around him before. He never thought his reputation would precede him, not in a subway.

A brief moment of silence passes, and there’s nothing but the sound of the wheels taking them at 50 miles per hour and the faint chattering of people in the background. Kurt bites his lip and looks around the car, watches a kid swing his legs next to his mother.

“We used to be in a few classes before. Now, I’m in your Music Theory III class, too,” Blaine says, suddenly, like he’s found the last drop in the plastic cup of things he could say, and Kurt turns his head to look at him, eyebrows raised. He might not be good with names, but he’s good with faces, and if Blaine’s in his class, then he’s  _pretty sure_ he would remember. “You… always borrow my pencils but you never give them back.” Blaine adds, and he chuckles awkwardly.

“Oh?” Kurt vaguely remembers borrowing something from someone just a few days ago, but he’s definitely sure he would’ve remembered if it was from Blaine. “I’m sorry, I’m just… all over the place these days. I’ll get you a new one.”

Blaine waves his hand dismissively. “No, it’s fine. Keep it. I kind of owe it to you, anyway.”

Kurt laughs, and nods his head. “Okay. Well, thanks, Blaine,” he says and pauses to consider something. “Wait, how come I never see you around? Are you a part-timer, or…?”

“No, I’ve always been there. Since the beginning of the semester.”

“Really? I’ve never noticed.” Kurt says, and Blaine opens his mouth to say something, almost does, but thinks better of it and continues to stare mindlessly into his book and drum his fingers on his lap. Kurt bites his lip, knows that it probably wasn’t the best way to say it, and immediately follows it with, “Sorry, it’s just… you know, if I’d seen you, I probably would’ve remembered.”

“It’s okay. We have like, a hundred people in the class. You probably wouldn’t have remembered,” Blaine says, looks up at Kurt with an attempt at a feeble smile, but Kurt doesn’t— _can’t_ —reply. There’s nothing you can say but ‘sorry’ when someone starts gushing about you  _to_ you, and you respond by saying you’ve never noticed them before. He’s just not used to this, to being paid so much attention to without having to ask. It’s like his very own five minutes of fame, with a stranger randomly flattering him out of nowhere, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride. Blaine actually starts reading, starts flipping pages, and Kurt Googles how to get rid of the coffee stain on his shirt. It feels like minutes and minutes on end until they arrive at the station and everyone gets up from their seat, Kurt included, but he doesn’t squeeze himself through the crowd. He waits for it to thin out and disperse in the station, but mostly, he’s just waiting for Blaine, who’s still stuffing his book inside his bag. He puts on his glasses, which are hanging just by his collar, and that’s when it  _clicks_.

Kurt knows him,  _recognizes_  him now. He’d seen him before, manytimes, in his curls and his bowties and his khakis…and those glasses. Kurt remembers him, might not have noticed him much, but he remembers. He’d just changed his look, is all. Probably last year. Or over the course of the summer. He wouldn’t really know whenexactly he started looking like  _this_ because he never paid attention. He never would’ve thought he’d fancy him in a stylish cardigan, with his hair gelled back that way, but he does. And it’s funny how sitting next to someone, having a five-minute conversation that really has no point whatsoever, can make a world of difference compared to just glancing at them every once in a little while when you have the luxury of time to give them a few seconds.

And now he’s given him fifteen minutes and all he’s since is genuine admiration from a _very_ attractive man he’s never stopped to consider attractive before, let alone consider.

 “Blaine,” Kurt calls out when Blaine’s already made his way out into the station. Blaine looks behind him, and stops when he sees Kurt. “I was wondering if you’re doing anything later. After class.”

Blaine furrows his eyebrows, more in confusion than anything, really. “Well, no, I was just gonna watch some TV and do some homework, if I have any. I most probably do, though. You know Mr. Moore likes to give out reading assignments.” He pauses. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was just gonna ask you if you, uh… if you wanted to get some coffee later.”

Blaine doesn’t respond immediately, just blinks and looks at him with something that closely resembles delight and disbelief, but most of all,  _surprise_. “Oh, um… I would- I would love to, actually,” he stammers, still trying to get a good grasp of the situation, because this is all very spur-of-the-moment. “Yeah, that would be…  _wow,_ that would be great. I’d love to. Yeah, let me just… let me check my schedule, ‘cause I forgot—”

“Blaine.” Kurt puts his hands over Blaine’s when he starts to dig into his bag for his planner. “We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

Blaine presses his lips into a thin line, looks at Kurt sheepishly, and nods. “Oh, uh, okay.”

“Good,” Kurt says, and puts on his coat to cover up the stain before they make their way up the stairs and out into the street. “Just don’t spill coffee on me this time, okay?”

Blaine laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and Kurt slips his hands into his pockets, looks at Blaine again and wonders how he’d missed him. “I won’t, I promise.”


End file.
